The Best Bet (12 page)

“I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier.” Gently, he stroked her face from her forehead to her chin, running his fingertips lightly over her skin. She shuddered at his touch.

“I don’t know what got into me,” he admitted. “I don’t usually act like that. But we have so little time, and I wanted to get to know you. I realize it was rude on my part and I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, placing her index finger across his lips. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

Except about my father
.

He didn’t know her father, couldn’t know him and the sacrifices he’d made, the dreams he’d given up for his family. But to have Rafael’s strong arms around her, to feel the warmth of his chest pressed against her breasts, she was willing to overlook his mistake.

“I don’t know why I made such a federal case of it.” She shrugged. “A bad habit I’ve picked up at work, I guess.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed her restraining finger. Growing bolder, he ran his tongue up and down the length of it. And then he moved to her second finger and ran his tongue up and down it. Each in turn, he licked her fingers and then, one by one, he pulled each of her fingers into his mouth and suckled them gently. His eyes never left hers.

She leaned back against the circle of his arms, relishing his tongue and lips on her sensitive skin. The spicy scent of his aftershave, combined with the male smell of him, teased her nose. Shimmering waves of heat washed over her. Her stomach fisted and lower, the warmth spread.

And her gaze locked with his.

Daring more, his tongue darted between her fingers, brushing the tender junctures with feathery strokes, turning her insides to water, making her knees tremble.

She gasped, her eyes widening.

His gaze held her fast, a tender trap. The chocolate color of his eyes deepened, and the darker pupils dilated. She shifted on her feet and wriggled in his arms, the feel of his catlike-rough tongue on the skin of her hand so intense that she wanted to scream. She started to pull away, thought better of it, and stood perfectly still, closing her eyes and sighing.

He kissed the palm of her hand and trailed his mouth up her bare arm, kissing and licking as he went and then blowing lightly on her wet skin. The sensation was almost unbearable, so exquisite in a titillating way. She shuddered and the blood heated in her veins, moving thickly through her limbs like honey.

His lips and tongue circled her neck, gifting her with butterfly strokes, wetting her sensitized flesh, and nipping at her ear. She loosed her hands from his neck, swayed, and gripped his shoulders. Holding on tight, she gave herself over to the too sweet pleasure, feeling her breasts grow heavy with need, swelling with passion. Her nipples hardened and pushed against the cotton of her halter top.

She leaned into him, and her sensitive nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt. Holding him this close, she could feel his lean muscled body beneath the flimsy cambric cloth. She thrilled, holding him close like this. A slow curl of heat started in her stomach, spiraling downward, making her ache for him.

She knew she was affecting him, too. Both their chests heaved up and down, like runners crossing the finish line. Their hearts beat double time, tapping out the rhythm together. And they clung to each other as if this would be both the first and the last time.

Despite the cool mountain air, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her skin. And lower, the liquid heat just kept building and building. She could feel herself contracting, the muscles at the apex of her thighs gathering themselves.

OMG, was she going to climax in his arms, just from him licking and sucking her fingers? She’d never been so turned on in all her life.

She pulled him closer and their mouths fused. She could feel his mounting passion, too. The hard bulge of him strained against her abdomen. Thinking about his arousal, she felt a gush of liquid between her thighs, wetting her panties. She was so hot and so needy that it hurt.

He cupped the back of her head in his hands and gently traced his lips over her face, pausing to softly kiss each closed eyelid. His cheek rubbed against hers, scratchy and rough from his beard. She let him taste and explore her, reveling in the strength of his arms juxtaposed with the tenderness of his kisses. Being in his arms was like going home and discovering a whole new world at the same time.

Her lips opened beneath his, drinking him in, welcoming him. The joining of their mouths was warm and moist and supple. Their lips fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. He explored the contours of her mouth, nipping and nibbling, rubbing his tongue over her lips but not seeking entrance.

She opened her eyes and sighed. He took the breath of her body into his mouth. Their lips clung together, and an unbearable hunger rose in her like a wild thing. She opened her mouth wider and thrust her tongue inside his mouth, initiating the intimate contact. Her nails curved into his shoulders, claiming him, branding him as hers.

He returned her hunger, met her passion with his own. His mouth pressed down harder, more insistent now. His hands dropped and he held her at the waist, bending her back against the brace of his arms. His tongue plundered her mouth, too, delving deep inside and circling, mating with her tongue.

His hands on her waist were like steel vises, pulling her down, urging her to kneel. They tumbled together onto the quilt, a crazy jumble of legs and arms. He lost no time in pulling her close and recapturing her mouth.

Lying beside him, she felt the hot shaft of his desire between her thighs. Mindless with need, she pressed herself against him and moaned in the back of her throat. His hands came up and brushed across her halter top, skimming the outline of her breasts. Arching her back, she thrust her breasts against the palms of his hands, silently begging for more.

He cupped her breasts through the thin material. His fingertips grazed the naked skin beneath her arms, leaving a scorched path across her sensitive flesh. Reaching under her halter top, he stroked her naked breasts.

His fingertips splayed over her nipples, caressing and arousing them to hard buds. Her legs thrashed and her vagina muscles cramped and tightened. She grew even wetter down there, so wet that she was afraid he’d touch her there and ... know. Know how much she wanted him.

Know that he was driving her crazy with desire.

Burrowing closer, she opened her legs, cupping the outline of his manhood between her thighs. Now it was his turn to moan, deep in his throat. He found the knot at the back of her halter top and undid it, eagerly tugging down the strips of fabric until her breasts were bared.

He lifted his head from her mouth and gazed down at her naked chest. His eyes were fully dilated, liquid and dark with desire. “
Qué lindas
,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

His hands came up and encircled her breasts, stroking and caressing. She closed her eyes again and gave herself over to the sensation. His hands soothed and taunted, cherishing the rounded fullness of her breasts. His fingertips found her nipples again. Like a classical guitarist, he plucked her nipples, playing the strings of her desire like a wild untamed flamenco.

Then she felt the warm, wet adhesion of his mouth on her breasts, replacing the trailing touch of his fingertips. The sensation of his mouth hit her like an exploding rocket. She lurched up and buried her hands in his soft, wavy hair, pulling him closer.

Greedily, he suckled her breasts, ringing the aureoles with his tongue, pulling her nipples deeply into his mouth, only to nip them gently between his teeth and then lave the tiny hurt away.

Adriana melted, puddled beneath the sun. Her reason had departed, all rational thought gone, leaving her a mindless jumble of sensation: of raw, demanding nerves and hot pulsing needs. Her hips bucked of their own accord, lifting off the quilt.

He must have understood her need because he gentled her with his hands while his mouth worshipped her breasts. He cupped the juncture between her thighs and she shuddered, as she realized he must feel how hot and wet she was. But right now, she just didn’t care.

He applied pressure with the palm of his hand while his fingertips started a delightful friction, rubbing the cloth of her shorts over her clitoris. She rode the crest and plunged headlong over. The pleasure was swift and sharp, a wave of pure sweet release, crashing over her and sweeping her away. The mountainside spun away. Suddenly, she was soaring with the eagles in the sky, drifting on a cloud of pleasure.

He lifted his head from her breasts and buried his face against her neck, urging her, “Take the pleasure,
mi amor
. I care about you, and I want to take care of you in all ways.
Por favor
, let me give you pleasure, Adriana.”

The after waves of her climax rolled over her. He was sweet, so sweet. And his tender words should have reassured her, but they didn’t. She knew what her surrender meant to him—not a simple release but something much more.

She was grateful for her release, but she didn’t want him to take care of her. She couldn’t allow him to think of her like that because what he really wanted was to possess her, all of her— her thoughts, as well as her body. He wanted to delve into her past and strip away her defenses, leaving her vulnerable.

Not that she had anything to be defensive about. But she wasn’t going to allow any man to take care of her in the way Rafael meant. She could take care of herself. She didn’t want to depend completely on anyone, especially not now. Now wasn’t the time.

There were other goals in her life, more important than conducting an all-consuming affair. She’d thought he was safe because he would be leaving in a few days, but he’d spoiled that fantasy with his seriousness and his insistent questions.

She wasn’t ready for what he wanted.

Her hips went still, and she collapsed against the quilt. She knew she owed him but not now. She wasn’t ready to give herself to him, even in a physical sense. Not now. Maybe never. She curled away from him and grabbed the loose ends of her halter top, knotting them behind her neck.

Rafael let her go, rising to his knees and watching her. “What’s wrong, Adriana?”  His voice sounded coarse and thick, husky with unspent passion.

“Nothing’s wrong.” She forced herself to laugh, a dry little laugh. “We just got carried away, that’s all.” Making a show of shading her eyes with her hand, she glanced in the direction of the sun.” And it’s getting late. I think we better clean up and start back.”

“But I thought . . .” His voice trailed away and he frowned.

She forced herself to ignore the confusion and hurt clouding his features.

Instead, she busied herself with gathering together the scraps of their lunch. She didn’t know what to say to him. Anything she said would probably sound callous, but she had to try.

“I guess I’m just not ready, Rafael ... not ready to go ... Oh, damn, you know what I mean.” She faced him and placed her hands on her hips. “Please, don’t make me spell it out for you. I’m just not ...” She bit her lip and tossed her head. “I hope you don’t hold it against me, because it’s been a lovely day. I really enjoyed our time together. Please, don’t think I don’t like you. It’s just that I’m—”

“Not ready,” he finished for her. “I understand. Or I’m trying to.”

If he labeled her a ‘tease,’ well, she couldn’t help it. And she couldn’t fault him for aching with unfulfilled desire because she knew exactly how it felt and it wasn’t a great way to be. But she wasn’t going to have intercourse with him to pay him back, either.

Glimpsing the baffled and strained look on his face, it was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around him and showing him how sorry she was. But she couldn’t afford to do that. It would only make things worse and give him the wrong message.

Working together, they quickly gathered the picnic things and stowed them in the car.  On the long drive back to Las Vegas, they drove into the sunset, an echo of their trip in the morning when they’d driven into a blazing sunrise.

Then, they’d both been excited and expectant, eager to see what the day would bring.  Now the day was over, and the excitement was gone, drained away, replaced by a kind of sadness, a hollowness that she didn’t want to think about it.

She held the steering wheel with one hand and thrust the other hand into the pocket of her shorts. The bumpy plastic figure was there, warm and nestled in her pocket. She stroked its worn surface, thinking of times past.

Rafael was quiet and turned inward, saying little. She respected his withdrawal and spoke only when necessary. When she pulled under wide porte cochere of the Xanadu and shut off the engine, she waved the doorman away. She knew the doorman would understand that she needed to park there for a few minutes.

She turned to Rafael, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

“You’re probably tired and want to clean up.” The tone of his voice was tentative. “But how about a late dinner?”

She lowered her head so that she wouldn’t have to look at his expectant face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I got today off by swapping with another employee. So I have to make this an early night because I’ll be pulling a double shift tomorrow.”

“Oh, I guess tomorrow is out, too.”

“Yeah, that’s a safe guess.”

She hadn’t set out to hurt this man. She really liked him. And she desired him more than any man she’d ever known. Maybe that was why he frightened her. But one look into his eyes told her that wasn’t the real reason. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She knew she could control her feelings. But could he? That was the real problem. He wanted more than she was willing to give. It was as simple as that.

“What about Monday?” he asked. “I’m free until Tuesday morning. Then I have the big interview.”

Did she want to see him again? Could she see him again without leading him on, without surrendering to the fever he ignited in her? She didn’t know.

Her body and head ached ... throbbed. This wasn’t the time to make decisions, not with him looming over her, not with the scent of him on her clothes and skin. Not with the bold slash of his mouth just inches from her own.